Experiences With a Microwave

Don’t get too excited because I’m not referring to bizarre acts of sexual self-gratification. I was just at the microwave warming up my lunch when random images of a past event involving a microwave assaulted my better senses. My one and only disclaimer being this is of no significance to anyone but me, myself and I.

A few years ago (more like 10+) my kids were visiting their father in Illinois for two weeks. I arrived home one evening after a particularly stressful day at my asylum (work) and didn’t feel like preparing a meal when it was just me and the cats.

To back up slightly, I had made the mistake that morning of leaving a new bag of cat food on the counter. Our resident pest at that time was “Opie”, who had jumped up on the counter and insinuated himself into the bag in several locations. In other words, he made a big mess and then proceeded to eat until he looked like the Hindenburg.

After I managed to round up and pour most of the nuggets left from his orgy back into the bag, I placed it into the microwave for safe keeping. As of that time he hadn’t figured out how to open the door. He was not a happy camper at that point and yowled like a banshee.

By then, I really didn’t feel like cooking. A frozen pizza was an easy out to remedy this predicament. After duly pondering the full array of delectable treats in the freezer, I selected one that didn’t sustain too much freezer burn. Then I nearly slit my wrist with a sharp knife getting the embedded plastic off and popped it into the oven.

The timer on the stove was broken, so I set the one on the microwave for 30 minutes and went to change my clothes, put in a load of laundry and perform sundry other chores to occupy said minutes.

By the time I walked back into the kitchen to check on my pizza, smoke was boiling out of the microwave. Cat food smells bad enough, but charred pellets of these mouth-watering little treats are cause for panic. I swear cats must be related to catfish because they both like stink-bait.

I yanked open the microwave door to discover fledgling yellow flames cavorting joyfully across the bag. The food itself was like tiny charcoal briquettes warming to the task of a weenie roast. And the smoked rolled on. I don’t even remember what I used to get the bag out of the microwave and since it still insisted upon smoldering I dumped the damn thing into the sink and doused it with water.

And the smoke…intensified and set off the smoke detector. So now, I had a gorged cat puking all over the house because he ate too much, a bag of stinking, smoldering cat nuggets smelling up the entire house and a blaring smoke alarm. Up went all the windows for fresh air and to stop the smoke alarms. I fumigated the microwave numerous times before I felt it safe to shut the door.

Exhausted, I finally sat down to eat my crispy critter pizza, forgotten in all the excitement.